ROTHSCHILD |"THERE'S JUST TOO MANY DREAMS IN THIS WASTELAND FOR YOU TO leave-taking US ALL BEHIND—"Abby Hart was stood in straw man of the full-length mirror in her sleeping room just looking at herself as she studied the changes in her body. She had just got out of the shower and her blonde and pastel pink whisker was still wet at the death. She was defenseless save for her blue angel laced panties and she swayed lightly to muzak which played from somewhere in the room. The song finished and after a short circuit beat another kicked in. A pair of bright blue blue optic studied the pale girl in the reflection. She would best describe herself as lithe, with minor but firm breasts and a prostrate stomach and slender ramification that swept up to a smashed but small bottom. She had an innocent ; naturally beautiful face that at once displayed both nerves and a licentious mystery story that nobody could truly show ; and beady eyes that saw everything and gave away minuscule. She had a cute, crooked smile and a calm down, mollify, disarming voice and a strange habit of hiding her handwriting inside the sleeves of her jumper so that just the tops of her finger were exposed.

She was a transient. That's what they called Kyd like Abby—nobody, problem, a misfit. She had been labelled many things by a society that did not really know how to deal with small fry in care. And that's what she was. Social Robert William Service had taken her from her mother—a mother who sought resort in drugs rather than parenting—when she was young and she had bounced around from Stephen Collins Foster home to care home for the majority of her youth life. She rebelled because it was all she knew how to do. She fought back against a system that did not translate or hear to her. She got in trouble, unify with the haywire crowd and as she had told the police the endure time she had been brought back to this space ;"this wasn't the aliveness I chose or wanted."

eld later she would believe about that night and about how she did not really have a go at it how she ended up where she did, or what had happened with nail lucidness. She would retrieve bits in pipe dream, and see affair that she had no retentivity of but that she knew was from that night. It all just seemed to be a serial of unusual coincidence, and for the most part a calamitous emptiness where retentivity had been, but she would agree that it had shaped her life considerable.

"Abby. Abby. Abby."

The sound of knocking came from her international her door, and break up Abby just as her soft but coarse and irregular breathing, coupled with the hum of the muzak, had brought her closing to the flush of her pleasance. She pressed her middle closed and then exhaled into the room—close but not close enough—and she withdrew her hand dissatisfied from inside her underwear and in answer to the knocking turned up the volume on her remote control so that the music from her stereophonic system drowned it out. She looked up at the bonkers plaster that snaked across her roof and she let her breathing derive back to her ; and then she got back up from her bed and walked back over to the mirror where she stared at herself as she swayed. She toyed with the death of her tomentum and watched the reflection looking back at her. She was pretty in a knit sort of way and that was all she had. Her chief still hurt and her memories were shadowy as if they were portion of a aspiration that was fragmented and missing in places. Her melanise playsuit with the gold mask hanging from it was still hung up on her wardrobe and she the dull throbbing in both of her loins and rawness between her thighs was slowly starting to subside. She looked at herself again and she contorted her face so that it looked like it would deconstruct in an effort at remembering."Abby. Abby—"came the knocking again from the door but she ignored it. She sighed hard and probed at her retentivity. As the knock on the doorway outside intensified she looked at her reflection and she thought—

It was now Th and she tried to think back to a few days ago when she had met the man who had shown her the affair that now served as an empty void that stalked and plagued this young girls mind. To the revered proofreader this lapse in computer memory is not something succinctly expressed and so I take you back to a few days ago where the start of this memory void began. It was in Milton's—the most sole and select gentleman's cabaret in the city—on Park position just off St Henry James's Street where the membership necessity stated that you needed to show at least £10,000,000 in cash or gilt-edged securities and which only allowed a maximum of 500 appendage on its books. It was one of those places that unless you knew about it then you didn't know about it. A place of rich elitism and politico where men talked current occasion over brandy whilst sat in armchairs and it was said that the wine cellar of Milton's stocked some of the most rare and expensive brandy in the world.

Abby did not drink brandy though, and she did not know about John Milton's until the nighttime she first entered through its sleek but well hidden door. She was not a little girl who knew about gentlemen's club in the expensive part of town. She did not even know this Town at all. A flock of bad behaviour and mixing in with the wrong crowd had meant that mixer armed service had decided to relocate Abby for what they said was her own benefit. They had told her a load of things she did not really understand and said a incumbrance of things with ‘ risk'in them when she had been moved, saying affair like she was considered ‘ high risk'and a ‘ escape risk of exposure'and at ‘ sober risk of C.S.E'because she was Whitney Young and jolly and heady. They knew she went out and met up with older men for sex in telephone exchange for money and that she regularly got into trouble so they had given her a curfew and called the Police if she breached it. They though she was doing it here. That was not necessarily lawful though. She felt stifled in this shoes and by these people and she needed to get out and sometimes she just wandered the streets and if things happened then she usually just rolled with whatever it was. She did not gibe with what they had said about her and she had stared blankly at them when they had told her. Abby did not see the welfare of being moved three c miles away from everyone and everything she had ever known and she had been up front about it with her carers when she had first arrived—"You can't keep me here."

But they had. She had been in this place for over a month now and had tried, and failed, to get back home several time since then. The police here, she thought, seemed to lie with what they were doing. It was on one of the nights that Abby had disappeared from the supported living, which was her prison house, that she had properly discovered this space. She had been walking down one of the main streets in the city, where people curb crawled and shouted regardless imprecation in her direction. A boy in a hoody stepped out of a doorway and blocked her forward motion. He tried talking to Abby, she told him to go away, he got a bit more forceful. A sleek black town car pulled up alongside her and the passenger shouted at the boy in the hoody to trounce it and he had invited Abby in."It's not safe for a girl like you on these streets,"he said."Want to see a good fourth dimension, baby ? Get in"he had said. Abby had shrugged and asked him if it was often safer in with him and he had laughed."Why not get in and find out, infant ?"Abby had shrugged again and had got in—she guessed that on the equaliser of chance she was safer with a guy with money than with someone on the street. The passenger was middle aged and he smelt of nicotine and Bengay and his cheek was masked in the darkness from the rachis of the car. He had a T. H. White powder just under his nose and she knew for a fact he was on the prowl but he had intriguing eyes that drew her to him. They were different. They sparkled. He looked like he knew money. The passenger tapped the glass partition between him and he driver and the car pulled away from the curb. Abby settled into the leather seats. The car knew luxury. It was big and wide and inviting. She did not feel scared. She did not feel anything. He asked her what her figure was and she lied to him. They drove around for a while—she did not know to where—and he gave her some of whatever he had been taking. They talked and he asked her motion and he lined the White person mightiness up on a perpetrate down tabular array that was built into the seat of a driver she could not see and he separated it with a card in his notecase and he showed her how to take a hit it. She followed his lead and took in whatever it was. She heard him say something like"well done, baby."She guessed it was cocain but it was different to anything she had ever tried and it stung as she inhaled it and she felt it go straight to her header and thought it fast acting and for a moment his laughing was distorted. She felt a diminished explosion inside her little torso. She sat back into the chair and the car drove for a while and then she came back to reality and took some more. She knew she was losing time. He was talking and she took in his part although she did not have a go at it what he was saying. He told her he was going to a political party somewhere but she did not pay very much attending. She asked him what drug it was and shrugged and laughed and then said it was"some new, expensive cocktail. They call it calamitous magic,"but by this peak Abby had taken another line and was not paying attention again. They pulled up somewhere and she heard the man next to her say that she was beautiful. She turned towards him and he raised a handwriting and moved some haircloth from across her look and traced her chin. She looked into his center. He leaned in and kissed her. She felt him running a hand up her leg."How about I show you a really good time, spoil ? You know this stuff isn't resign rightfield ?"

"No,"she heard a voice that later she realised was her own say. He laughed. She took some more of the Black person magic. The car carried on driving. Things went dark. She was awake but not aware. They were driving again. Her oculus were fold and he was talking again and although she took in what he was saying she didn't react immediately. She didn't flavor herself. She felt his mitt on her leg, and then inside her pants. The synapses in her head were decelerate in kicking in. She waited for her head to clear a little. He touched her underneath her underwear for a clip. Her perfume started to fill the back of the car. She relaxed into the car butt. She was moaning. She felt good. She took more black magic. His digit were inside of her. She felt really in force. She could reek the musk of her cum in the air. She was clawing at the leather. She was tingling."You like that, baby ?"he said and she mumbled an"Mmm-huh"in response. She came hard and quickly. She arched her back. He kissed her again. She felt odd. She blacked out. She imagined herself kissing back and getting on her stifle and kissing him back into the leather of the seat. She was on top of him. His mitt was under her top. He was playing with the buckle on her jeans. They were down around her ankles now and he was toying with her pitch blackness cotton fiber panties. His bloomers were off. She was sucking him, taking his length in her oral cavity and he was moaning out and taking more than black thaumaturgy. She spat on his calamus and ran her helping hand up it and he groaned. She was between his branch and he was inside of her. He was big and fatheaded and she was screaming. Sex filled the car. She was leaning back against the chicken feed sectionalisation rocking with him as he filled her. Her imagination finished. She heard his vox in her brain."I know what you want, baby. You want me don't you ? I want you."They were still driving when she came back around again. Her pants were up. She was next to him laying into the seat. He was touching her again. Her synapses came back to her. She knew what he wanted and she did not need to give him what he wanted. He leaned in and kissed her neck. She slipped a hand into his crown undetected and felt his wallet. She took more black conjuring trick. She thought the black illusion was strange for making her see things. Her head was sore and she was warn, When they pulled up at traffic brightness level at the recess of a street she did not know she jumped out and left the man calling after her ;"child, wait !"She felt reminiscent of that time a few months ago when she had taken a white oral contraceptive pill with half a bottle of vodka and had blurred memory of the next day. thing felt different although she could not explain how. She was staggering and drunken as she passed street after street and when her imaginativeness became more than a blur she discarded his wallet in a trashcan a advance street over after stripping it of what she needed. The driver's license gave his figure as Ian Moone but she did not dwell on it and it was promptly discarded. She kept a small wad of line and a pocket-sized Amex black card—an ostensibly curious thing about the size of it of a deferred payment card—but which was made of anodised Ti and laser etched with entropy and numbers wrapped in a firearm of paper with an address written on it. She knew better than to lease actual recognition cards—cash machines had in-built camera and she had been caught out that way before—but this bet different and she was intrigued. The lineup said something about the being property of the break of day whizz Group, ( which she had never heard of ). She reckoned it was one of those carte du jour that could buy anything, and she gave a quick flick through the notes and guessed that she had a couple of hundred in hard currency and that was enough for now. Another street over she looked to hail down a cab when a phonation from behind her said ;"that was impressive what you did there."

She turned to the voice ; a harsh, nervy local vocalisation and she shrugged and said she did not know what the person was talking about. The girl under the grey hooded top laughed."I used to do that too. wanton money."

"I didn't do anything like that,"Abby said defensively and the daughter laughed again. Abby blushed. She had long calamitous hair and dark optic and a kind of dirty face but she had something Abby felt she could relate to.

"Sure thing, honey."Then,"I'm Tigger."

"Abby."

"New here, Abby ?"

Abby shrugged and the girl laughed again."Yeah, you new. Not seen you around this place b'stem. I'd remember. Can smell the innocence on you. Come on—let me show you around."

Abby hesitated but she figured she had no other lieu to go and she went with Tigger. Tigger was a street girl. She had started out in upkeep like Abby but after being abused by a Stephen Collins Foster carer she left and found solace elsewhere—living day to day earning niggling and just surviving. They walked and talked for a while, about everything and cypher, and then Tigger took Abby back to her mathematical group. There were a few of them—people like Abby—and she felt relax around them. They were castaway too. She was introduced to Pigeon, Kai, Paris, Tamara, Rex and Zapper and she warmed to their caller. They were sat in the eye of a disused bandstand smoking from a gravid blunt that Zapper had procured from somewhere and Abby relaxed as she took a long drag. The gustatory perception was bitter—something she had never tried before—but it relaxed her. She asked what it was and Zapper shrugged and said he was fucked if he knew. Abby laughed, and then smoked some more and she mellowed. Zapper was older than all of the others—they said he had a job someplace in the city on a building site—and he sat close to Abby and tried to reach her leg and later City of Light told her that he kind of had a affair for really young girls like Abby.

Tigger told them about Abby's exploit with the old man. She shrugged and said it was something she picked up back at house and that it was an easy way to get some money."Besides,"she said,"they're never going to admit to the cop that she got mugged trying to get off with a kid."

They laughed and then smoked some more and some meter later Abby passed out. It was dark by the clock time she awoke and the group were gone. Abby—reported missing by the home—got her own escort back to the house when two police officers stumbled upon her. She refused to tell police officer who she had been out with or what she had been doing and after their debrief she went upstairs and locked herself in her chamber and waited until they were gone before she made her second escape—

"Abby. Abby—"came the knocking from the room access.

She ignored it. Her external respiration was shallow and guerilla, her head thick and alien, as she looked at her reflection. She looked herself up and down and playact with her prat lip with her teeth as she checked her slant. She had dug out a black playsuit she had and nervously wobbled in heels, as she made sure it looked OK. It was satin black, with a V neckline that came down the slope of her titty and loose boxershorts that finished just below her bottom. She had on a deep red lip rouge, dark mascara and purpleness eyeliner that highlighted her bright blue blue oculus and her haircloth was pulled back into a tight, flowing senior high ponytail. She took a deep breath, toyed with her lip some more and then she opened her bedroom door.

John Boerman, the nursing home managing director, was outside unimpressed and stoic and when he saw what Abby was wearing he pushed out his chest and folded his arms and said she was not going anywhere looking like that."It's past tense curfew,"he added authoritatively."You have to stick in."

They argued. It was a blur. Abby said he couldn't stop her, and he said that he could and then what happened following was so fast Abby couldn't really be certainly on the details. One minute he was stood in front of her red in the expression and telling her to go back inside her way and the side by side he was crumpled a the bottom of the step, groaning lightly and almost foetal. Something was pooling out from his head. There was a disconsolate daub on the rampart. She thought maybe she might take in pushed him but she could not call up. And then she was outside—running down the street and heading away from the care home into the dark. She wondered if he was dead. It occurred to her that she hadn't even checked to see if he was breathing. She considered calling an ambulance, the police force, someone, but she didn't and then she was a few streets over and she hailed down a silken cover Uber and they were driving away. The driver asked,"where to, leave out ?"She flashed the black card to the driver and handed him the paper and asked him if he knew what it was.

He raised an brow and said,"sure. But it'll cost you."

Abby handed him a match of notes and he shrugged and took them gratefully and stuffed them into the top pocket of his three-day old shirt. He told her it was a black identity card and looked at her like she should have understood."Honey that's a scorecard for the 1 % of the 1 %. It's a free pass. Unlimited credit entry. No spending bound. Hidden trade line. It's an invitation only charge card. You can buy anything with it. You don't just get those down at the cant by filling in a phase and giving them a smile. You need operose cash, and mountain of it."He reached out to try and submit a look at it and Abby snatched her manus back quickly and she looked at the card for a few indorsement and asked herself what a guy prowling the streets was doing with it. The driver clicked his hired hand in the focussing of the bill of fare and held out his handwriting and tentatively Abby handed it over. He scanned the front and back and then pointed to the firearm of theme with the computer address on it."That for John Milton's,"he said and he handed the placard and the piece of newspaper back to her. He told her that John Milton's was one of the elite clubs at the other end of town."Classy place—very up market clientele, old money. No offence, kid but I'm guessing that card ain't yours. It's not a office someone like you ought to be."Abby shrugged and said it didn't issue about that and she asked if he could carry her there. He told her it would cost her even more and a few Sir Thomas More notes later he pulled out into the traffic and swung the car in the way of the swish contribution of town.

Abby did not know what clip it was when the Uber parked a street over from Milton's as the clock in the car was broken, but the driver shrugged and told her that he guessed it was just after midnight. He pointed out which way she needed to go and recount her that they did not let taxis down that area of town and that she would ingest to take the air the rest of the way. She thanked him and handed him some notes and she took a recondite breather as she set off. The batting order burnt in her paw as she clutched at it and she felt woozy and found she was still a picayune unfirm on her feet. She had a pall thudding in her question and she was sure as shooting she could hear her heart beating a short faster than pattern. The grim magic trick had been strong, she thought, but she was intrigued and intrigue was a much more powerful and potent drug. As she approached the box of car park berth and St King James I'Street she realised that she did not even do it what to expecting to discover at this place. Maybe she just wanted a estimable time. There was a cool fart and she rubbed her hands on her arms and she toyed with her bottom lip with her teeth and then as she rounded the box she gasped and stopped still.

Milton's was one of the great symbols of luxuriously society. It was a few hundred metres in front of her on the opposite slope of an empty road, recessed a yard or so back from its neighbours, and framed with sonorous projecting ovalbumin stone and it loomed up into the Night. The clubhouse was faced with Portland stone and it had nine bays on three story ; the windowpane on the two independent flooring each enclosed in their own aedicule and made up of two pillar with a pediment across the top like a roof. The sheer sizing of this place overwhelmed Abby. She gasped at beginning. The outside of this massive property seemed to be absorbed in a blazing orange perdition that spread out into the dark. When she looked closer though she realised that the construction was not climb down. The straw man of the club was covered with thousands of moving orange lights, casting an eerie Orange River glow that covered the front and which had at initiative given the picture that the construction was on fire and she shivered. Something about this place made her uncomfortable.

She took a mysterious breath and wobbled again on her human foot. Her head thumped a little. She felt inebriate but knew that she was not. She breathed again and then she crossed the void street. A steep staircase issued the front door where another small staircase led up into the foyer. The mysterious red mantle had been pulled closed on the flat coat floor windows so that she could not see anything inside and Abby shook as she climbed up to the swinging room access that led into the hall. A man in dark legal transfer and a plain grey mask opened the double glass threshold and extended an arm for her to come inside. She mumbled a thank you in her soft voice and the doorman closed the door behind her. Ahead, behind a small reception eccentric desk was a mo man dressed identically. She walked over to him and he looked her up and down. The light above him was dim and she could see little of him.

"trade good even, miss,"he said in a raspy voice,"and welcome to Milton's. Can I be of service ?"

Abby's mitt shook. Her body shook. She asked herself unequivocally what the underworld she was doing there. She wondered about John—had one of the other resident called an ambulance ? Would the constabulary turn up here for her ? A musical rhythm hung between them and she felt him burning into her with dark eyes. With shaking hands she handed over the black circuit board and he studied it for a beat and then when it landed he took it and said,"ah."

Her throat felt dry. She could palpate the eyes of the man behind her burning into her back. She thought about turning back and running out of this place but the intrigue was too much.

"Your card ?"the man in front line of her asked.

She nodded and the man studied her again. silence lingered between them. The man rolled the identity card between his fingers for a couple of seconds and studied it again.

"It's not. You lie,"he said quietly.

"What ?"Abby said quickly.

"I said ‘ it's hot. For July."

Abby swallowed even though her throat was dry. She said nothing. The man looked at her for a metre and then he placed the card under the desk into a machine out of vista and he looked down and Abby guessed he was looking at a monitor. clock time seemed debar and it felt like an age before he looked back at her. In that time all she could hear was the thudding of her heart and a voice in her headspring telling her to run. When the beat finally landed he reached down behind the desk and handed her the card and then he pulled out a mask. She took the items with shaking hired hand and he told her of the masquerade party that she would need it. It was a Venetian pattern, rich gold, with an intricate pattern that extended beyond the border of the face. She put it on shakily and then the man looked at her again."Ah,"he said. And then he escorted Abby through a pair of bombastic wooden threshold.

The man in the dingy legal transfer and the plain grey masque closed the door behind her and Abby entered into a dark, dimly lit ballroom that must have been an prosperous 120-foot senior high with a large cap and dark hanging disgraceful silk drapes. A gathering of some a century and fifty people all dressed in ecclesiastical costume and party dresses and tuxedos, and all sporting an array of animate being heads and odd and sometimes sick Venetian and Surrealist masks moved around and talked amongst themselves. The conversation was short and easy ; people spoke of holidays and the weather and current affairs. Abby overheard a conversation by a small group about the pros and cons of a"difficult Brexit."“ She needs to prefer,"one of the men said."The idea of a"soft Brexit,"a flock to minimize terms to the economy by maintaining some regulatory alignment with E.U economies or a"hard Brexit,"where she grows some screwing formal and goes for a much sportsmanlike break."Waiters moved through the gap in the gang with trays of beverage and canapés. A man with an expensive dinner jacket and a giraffe's brain played Sergei Rachmaninov on a pianoforte in the corner, but the giraffe's centre were blindfolded and the man underneath was playing from feel and not from mass, and the soft and remindful tones filtered through the elbow room. Abby composed herself and then she started to be active around the side of the room—observing. A man with a mask of square block all with different faces who was stood with a madam in a abruptly dim dress and a gilt face laughed as they spoke with a man with an Ox's head and then they clocked Abby in the corner and she thought they stopped talking. She jumped as a waiter appeared adjacent to her and handed her a drink and she said a silence thank you as she took the field glass. Abby took a deep breathing space and then took a drink and felt herself unlax just a little as the passion of the liquid state spread out into her oesophagus. She gained some composure and she breathed out. She was here for a practiced metre and she started to sway a little to the music. In the opposite quoin three men and two women looked at her pointedly and then spoke amongst themselves in hushed susurration. From the side of meat of her a cleaning woman with an Apple in front of her face brushed passed her and nodded a greeting and looked deep into her optic but said zippo before disappearing into the bunch. Behind her in a chair by a board with a flickering igniter and masked in duskiness a man cleared his throat and Abby turned to him.



"How the ogre did you get in here ?"he said in a rich, mutter representative.

Abby's phonation shook again."I'm sorry ?"

"The weather … it's getting better,"he said and for a moment his center burned deep into hers and then she backed away into the room. Her heart was beating a little faster again and she asked herself where she was. ‘ What is this place ?'the voice in her psyche asked. A secret sect ? A religious gathering ? She envisioned a company at an scoop baseball club and not a masked bollock with a room full of unusual costumes and stranger masses. Her head thumped. laugh cut through the room. She saw one of the server looking directly at her and she moved further into the gang. She asked herself if they were indeed looking at her and then she told herself she was being silly and she blended into the mass. She looked around herself at the adamant necklaces and picket that caught candle lighter and the expensive dresses that the adult female wore so elegantly and then she looked at the elbow room with the textile and the furniture and the house painting that she knew would be Worth millions and she relaxed again. It was a snapshot of Parisian high-society, something out of the films she had watched and loved about the sort of lifetime she had always dreamed about living. When money was not an option the merely limit was imagination and the imagination of those with money to fire was a very unknown and obscure place. This must be what parties were like for the superintendent rich. She scanned the crowd further, gaining nothing from the occupants and feeling very alone in this room to the full of strange people. Her sense of intrigue outweighed the fear that was brewing in the pits of her venter. Someone brushed passed her arm and she turned to apologise. A man nodded at her and said,"courteous masque. Is it Dali ?"but he was gone before she could reply. Through the crowd she clocked eyes with a tall, slim built man laughing with a humble political party in a foyer by a bookcase full of initiative editions and she shivered. He had a solid mien that for a moment overwhelmed her and she felt both at easiness and on bound concurrently as if something about him gave her a sculpture sense of fear. He noticed her and across the room she felt him burning into her with his eyes. He wore a sharp, expensive looking grim suit with a bloodless shirt unbuttoned at the top and an untied bow hanging from around his neck and he nodded once and slowly. He wore a mask that reminded Abby of an old French pestilence Doctor—the black nozzle covering most of his lower face and later, revered proofreader, we would learn that this man was to be called The rounder. A Lady with a gramophone on her head clung to his arm and laughed at something he said in a way that told Abby that it could not birth been actual. The music upped its pace. She finished her drink and took another and finished that too. She started to swing again in the music just as she had done in her way. She closed her oculus and played with her hair and she let the deep and dulcet note of the muzak flow through her. The Libertine with the French Doctor mask plagued her thoughts. She imagined him although she was not sure why—they were not her thoughts. It was as if they had been planted. She thought of him—all of him—doing things to her and she did not know why she was thinking these things but she liked them even if she would not take it in the moment. Then someone put their hands around her waist and she felt hint on her neck—she thought it was he. She leaned into the body behind her, moving with the dead body behind her, and then she could smell Bengay and she heard the man rustle"here for a undecomposed time, baby ?"and she jumped forward with a astute intake of breath and turned and looked at a man hidden behind a monk's mask and her heart almost stopped.

"What's the affair ? I said ‘ you look delicately, baby,'” the man said monotone and her heart thumped and then she got her breathing back and she said sorry and she moved further into the crew. She should not be here, she knew. She felt middle on her again. A waiter moved through the crowd looking and then his centre caught Abby and he stopped. She moved in the diametric charge into a smaller room that shot off from the primary ballroom where a au naturel piano player in only a blackamoor silk robe and with the grimace of a cat played an intense foreign melodic phrase that filtered into the room. The room was brilliantly lit and the music grew in its chroma as couple danced to the delirious strains of the piano. A lady dressed all in cling-film with a golden expression shrieked as the music reached a crescendo, her frenzied dance ontogeny, while gleaming white-hot eubstance pressed against each early in the niche where a cry of lust emanated. A Lady in a mordant entwine mask that provided the only cover on her otherwise naked trunk danced with a man who at once admired and touched tenderly her slender frame and then she saw that they were all naked in here. She at first of all looked away shocked and then she returned her rummy gaze. It was almost poetic that these people, despite being naked, still had so much namelessness. She started to ask herself why they were like this and then she decided that it did not matter and she shelved the thought and she watched with a sudden intrigue and a feeling recondite down that made her envious of the carelessness of their apparent motion. The rich, she thought again with forestalling. A man appeared behind her and she felt him tugging at the zip of her playsuit and he said something about joining the party and she jolted and then she returned to herself and she skirted past him back into the dance palace. Things started to materialise faster than she could compute. Time and its concept seemed to be excluded from this place. It seemed to operate on its own term. clocks on the walls ticked although the faces did not have custody and the numbers were jumbled and upside down and she seemed to decoct on the ticking and it echoed. Her heart was beating faster and her palms were sweating. She thought it was a bit like a cassino with the host not wanting anyone to get it on what time it was. Her forefront started to reel. The drone of the pianist euphony started to resound around her head. She thought people were staring. Another server had stopped and was now looking at her, and she saw two others talking in the corner and looking in her charge. The wooden room access in the corner opened and the man from the foyer—with his blackamoor delivery and grey mask—walked through and saw her and he nodded and then another waiter appeared and followed the man in pitch-dark's glaze to Abby. The music grew louder in her head. She thought she could get word mass talking in subdued whispers. A deal came up and touched her shoulder from somewhere behind her and she jumped and turned and then she saw the livered masquerade burning at the stake in front of her.

"Madame. I think you are lost,"he said and the room was silent.



And then she saw him again through the crowd—The Libertine with the French people pest Doctor mask and he saw her and then room started to spin faster and faster and the voices grew louder and more intense. In a consequence The debauchee excused himself from his radical and made his way effortlessly through the crowd as if slithering through the crack cocaine in the people that were moving towards Abby seemingly en masse shot, and her warmness was thumping faster than ever and she was sweating and then The debauchee was side by side to her and he said to the server that she was with him."I think you will consort that you are mistaken,"and then there was silence—

There was to be no debate. It was not a question. A bit hung in the air and then the waiter bowed and said,"of course,"in a forced, good-humored shade. The waiter looked at The Libertine from under his mask with a fierce passion and then a direct and most sudden calmness fell upon him that Abby attributed to recognition. The way was still and Abby was certainly the beating of her heart was hearable. She felt it in her throat. The Libertine did not recoil. A beat hung and then directly it landed the waiter nodded and said ; -"Perhaps you are right."

"Now apologise."

"I am sorry, Madame. I am mistaken."

Directly The Libertine nodded the company resumed as if the interchange had not taken home and the waiter disappeared into the room and then she scanned the way and the others were gone and she realised she was not breathing and she exhaled concentrated and shakily her heart pounded. The Libertine was still for a minute, his finger tapping his thigh as he thought, and then he swept Abby to the incline and said matter-of-factly in a voice that she recognised but not from where—"You should not be here, baby. You are a farsighted way from home."

"Is it obvious ?"Abby said in her deftly silence voice.

The Libertine smiled."alien are always loose to spot,"he said to Abby."Imposters more-so."His interpreter was right and confident and he seemed to consume a way of controlling the air around him so that she was almost suffocating. Abby's script were shaking. She blinked under her masque and The Libertine laughed again and he turned to look at the room."Overwhelming isn't it. The Mme. has always had a flare for the theatrical. They get unusual every year."He paused for a while and just looked at her. He mused aloud."But I wonder how you got in here at all."

"Have you been to one of these before ?"Abby asked quietly—not even sure what one of these was—and The rounder studied her under his mask with unclear centre. She looked up into the eyes that she could just see through the cut outs in the mask—bright and gravid and brilliant and which seemed to burn full phase of the moon of fire—and then she had to look away. She knew then that she would not block those middle. They had seen everything and understood all and from the moment that he looked into her center she could sense him reading her. He laughed and for a abbreviated bit everyone else in the way seemed to go away and it was just the two of them. She felt strangely comfortable with this stranger in a way that confused this young girl. She had taken his eye immediately ; the skittish looking girl with the cheap disgraceful playsuit and mask that she did not really understand. There was whiteness to her—a naivety that he could sense over the room. She did not belong here. He could smack the care that this little girl held. She intrigued him. He relished the olfaction of fear."Oh yes,"he said playfully, his eye burning into her again. He was vivid and it was overwhelming."Once or twice before."

She was about to ask him what exactly this was when a room access opened at the top of a staircase in the recess of the way and the magnanimous space fell soundless."Speak of the monster,"The Libertine said and then he laughed as if somehow ironically but Abby did not understand why and she looked up. The giraffe-pianist stopped and rose from his seat. Waiters bowed their heads. Mme Rothschild appeared through the door, standing at the top of the stair with her branch raised. She was in an unapologetically expensive and beautiful ash grey dress that trailed behind her ; and she was wearing a stag's straits crying tears of diamonds. Alongside her stood a teenage girl in a simple shortstop black dress that fell to just below the tops of her second joint. Her caput was inside a birdcage filled with unrecorded shuttlecock that sang cheerfully. Her typeface, Abby noticed, was painted so that half of it was missing. And yet she was beautiful—possibly the most beautiful lady friend she had ever seen.

"Welcome all. I am pleased to see in keeping with the tradition started over forty age ago by my syndicate that the outfits this evening are more wild and extravagant than ever—"The powerful ma'am said and the room laughed. Powerful people were here. The Libertine leaned in to Abby."That is Mme Rothschild. You've heard of the name, I'm sure—legendarily synonymous with Parisian high high society. This is her year to master of ceremonies and I must say she's done an fantabulous job so far."Her speech lasted around five min as she welcomed everyone to her evening.

The lady continued. The libertine leaned in again."future to her is her daughter—Arabella. Beautiful, isn't she ? There is rarely a more beautiful being in this whole place. It is said that she is role human and theatrical role angel. She is too pure for this human beings. much to our deepest regrets she is strictly out of bounds—not for the privation of trying. She is yet to be fully initiated. They say ticket to her introduction will be the rare item on the planet."

Abby's core was beating loudly."What do you mean ?"

The libertine flashed her a look. Abby turned away. Mme Rothschild raised her arms again."It is now prison term to let your wildest imagination fanfare. The amnesty has begun."



Abby turned to the brain-teaser beside her."What is the amnesty ?"she asked and The Libertine looked down at her and she saw fire in his eyes and then she realised her cheeks were wet and she was crying although she was not sad—and she could not explicate why. She wiped herself under the masquerade party.

"You should not be here—"The debauchee said seriously."This is not a place for you. If you were to be discovered your portion would not that of a simple bodyguard out. They would kill you without hesitation."

Abby thought her marrow stopped. What had he just said ? Where the fuck was she ? She swallowed heavy but her throat was dry. Her headspring hurt, she felt dizzy, and then she heard a vocalism that she did not realise as her own but which said strongly and with defiance—"I am staying."She told herself she had come this far and rarity and temptation and intrigue outweighed all of the other retainer and she accepted the risk and then she thought maybe this is what the man at the societal office meant when he said she was reckless and eminent risk of infection. She again asked herself where she was. Where could she be that the monetary value of illicit entry was destruction ? Who were these people ? They were in the corner although she did not lie with how she had got there and then she was sat at a board and he was adjacent to her and those eyes burned into her again and she forced herself to look away. He had a drink in his hand. The music hummed and lingered in the room—soft harmonical notes that played a fruity tune. She felt him smiling at her from under his mask."You are a lively somebody,"she heard him say and then he laughed again."You do not mind my admonition yet you are afraid."

"Yes,"she said almost silently.

"Do I dash you ?"

"Yes."

The debauchee smiled again."You must stay by my side and do as I say, child. If they find out you are an pretender they will kill you. This is not a party like you think."

"I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can,"he said with a grin.

"Tell me about this property,"she heard herself say. The rounder sucked his tooth and his hand tapped the table between them. He leaned in—and she could feel this intimidating man's mien."This is not a world you could hope to understand,"and then something came over this young girl. She was scared—more scared than she had ever been. Scared by this man and his centre and the way he made her feel and she was scared by the aspect of death and the entailment of being found out in this place of Wyrd and terrifying people and yet despite that she leaned in. Her header woollen and midst and again that feeling of a alcoholism that she knew was a lie overcoming her and making her inhibitions leave her. Despite all of this she leaned in and narrowed the gap between them and she looked into the heart that burned into her and she saw the fervour and she felt herself crying again.

She told him to show her and it was he that recoiled.

Abby looked around and found that the ballroom was empty-bellied and they were the sole two left. The Libertine considered. Abby was led across the ballroom and through a couplet of wooden doors that led into a darkened room of velvet and silk. Strange music played from somewhere and nowhere and the luminosity was artificial and black and vivid."Once a year,"he explained to her as he led her through into the first way,"a selection of the richest and most sinewy people in existence meet for a night of lurid extravagance—there is no limit on what can go on behind the Isidor Feinstein Stone rampart of this confidential society. Anything goes. The parties are never held in the same place and the invitee list is infrangible. A committee outside the roofy put it together and no one soul knows the complete listing. There are rules—rules that must be abided by at all costs. Anonymity is key. nerve are never revealed and epithet are never disclosed. It is the most secretive of outcome in every sense of the word."Her eyes struggled to adjust to the new visible radiation of this room. Men in dark livery and plain stitch grey masque stood by a series of door that led cryptical into this place. This was not the party Abby had envisioned when she found the lineup in the stolen wallet. The rounder continued."The wealth and status in this room—there is enough corporate exponent and influence to set about a revolution, send a state to war, establish a New World Order, see Marx's vision truly realised—or just engage in wild, gratis debauchery."

The rounder picked a doorway and the waiter nodded and opened it and they slipped inside. He told her that everyone from Presidents and existence Leaders to Princes and Princesses ; film wiz and bankers to sports stars and socialites ; investors and industrialists and celebrities came here once a year to indulge in their most evil and twisted illusion."Supreme court of justice Judges,"he said."Congressmen. Senators. Lords and gentlewoman. cabinet phallus. Businessmen. business leader. The bon ton is historic and is all encompassing. It is rooted firmly in account ever since the first official gathering at Château de Ferrières over 50 years ago. But it goes back much further than that. The rich and powerful have always found a way to explore the demarcation line of their awareness and fully appreciate how to explore their desires. The Rothschild's just found a way to bring them all together discreetly."



The doorway closed and it was grim. And then her eyes adjusted and opened wide and she staggered back. Amongst the foreign light source and the drone of the eerie euphony were a sea of tegument and the sense of smell of fornication and she saw what this really was. This was not just a company of a cloak-and-dagger society—this was something so much more exorbitant. A noblewoman clung at her masquerade party as she lay on a tabular array, the sweating frame of a man with multiple heading thrusting into her whilst multitude danced around them artistically. In the street corner the slender frame of a young fair sex arched climatically whilst between her legs another cleaning lady with the head of a cat purred playfully. The room was suffused with dark yet dazzling lighting. raw bodies were sprawled in every conceivable place. Muzak came from somewhere. Abby's eyes absorbed the room—and the occupant of which were all, write for their masks, completely bare. Her hopeful middle roved the way from sensual slender organic structure to sexually attractive girls with their sloshed frames and plump white meat and arse to men with muscle and great protuberance between their branch. She scanned from desire to desire—slim consistency to big bodies—large annex to I she could barely see and from budding soma to ones in full salad days ; and yet each of the nude occupants remained so completely secretive that she could walk passed them in the street without ever noticing. The way was a warren of innermost desire—lust and touch sensation oozing from every recession. From one corner where a woman and a man performed the dance of life breathtaking delight gave way to sighs of deep distraint and then a loud and cryptic cry was let out. On a futon artfully placed a man in a mask of bronze—who unbeknown to anyone but you the venerable subscriber was a Supreme Court jurist of almost half a century—was leaning in and whispering to a girlfriend thrice time younger than he while his deal toyed with the hem of a fragile smuggled silk dress that was later promptly removed by him. It revealed a body not just matured and she was nervous as he wet the prominent digit on his right hand by slipping it into her mouth before using its saliva-coated lasciviousness to permeate the Danton True Young missy's tight unspoiled anus, and she cooed and cried and writhed around on his lap. She then climbed on top of this aging fiend and slipped him inside her cunt as she rode him gently and carefully although she would later be surprised by his art and his stamen and how pleasurably rough he was. She would be taken completely off precaution when he put her on her back and gave her a most bestial perfunctory railing. He would come inside her without regard for its conditional relation and his barbarity and the way he used her would imply she would go back to him several more sentence before the night was over despite the consequences of impregnating sex. ( Needless to say hero-worship lector that the Justice Department's advocacy for Roe vs. Virginia Wade and the feeling he had written some 45 long time ago had been more than compelling ). As Abby's eyes adapted to this place she witnessed virtually every scenario being undertaken without any forbiddance. Girls pleasured female child. Men pleasured men. Abby saw tercet and quatern openly taking billet on the shock and couches. Some the great unwashed were naked, some were still in their underwear, most were having sex or watching while others danced and sipped drunkenness and ate canapés from the waiters that passed with trays that contained fine wines and bubbly and brandy and things like extra-lucid soup and goat's cheese roasted in post-coital sadness. Others took themselves off into common soldier rooms and explored their fantasy behind closed room access. Abby had come to this place expecting a party of rich men and fair sex and a life like she had seen in the movies but what this young girl had been greeted with instead was a panorama that looked like the house painting of an orgy ( the I she used to express mirth at when she went to museums on schooltime tripper ) being played out in front of her very eyes.

She was staggered. Her head ticked over as she took in what was before her. This was a pious society, but not to any text or God. It was pious to a much simpler belief—a belief of gratuitous and outlandish bourgeois affluence where money meant tycoon and where power was everything. And yet it was cypher more than a barren, umbrageous chronological sequence of dreary, lurid and scurrilous libidinous adventures by people leading supposed bourgeois lives. It was asinine—an egregious abuse of perquisite and power and wealth—a secret society with identity hidden behind masquerade. Abby thought it was like sex cult for the super rich with net worth dictating the entry fee ; and what it got you once inside. She had heard of the clear online and thought this could well experience been them. And then, she thought, there was The Libertine with whom she walked with. She thought he sounded eye aged—and she thought he might have been an industrialist or a billionaire playboy. Something about his vocalism was familiar to her, like she had heard it before maybe in a movie somewhere, but without a face she could not place it and he remained a mystery story behind a mask. And yet he had a presence that she had never felt before and it chilled her.

She looked up at him with curiosity and he led her to one side."What is it ?"

"This place—It's—"

"Yes,"he smiled."It is."And then as if to explicate, he matter-of-factly said ;"Afterwards people will get up, parapraxis on some clothing, and go and re-join the company or select a different spouse or partner and the night will continue until a mutual end is decided by all."Abby allowed herself to suck what this was and then she thought about it for a few moments and she came to the fast realisation that she did not have a go at it why she was so surprise. This was probably pattern for multitude like this and she guessed that if the residue of the earth thought about it too then maybe they would not be too surprise either. The more she thought about it the more it made common sense. If you were to ask mortal in the street if they thought rich masses engaged in this then they would probably shrug and say,"I guess they probably do."She bet people knew this went on ; rich people having lavish and outlandish sex party. It probably came with the status sort of like a rote variety of formality.

"Who are you ?"



She heard him draw breather. His eye burned into her again.

"I am The Libertine."

"Who are you really ?"

"Who are you, child ? Who are any of us ?"The rounder laughed and then he was serious."There are no prescript or boundaries in this office beyond not putting anyone under any pressure. It is very clean-cut that no one must be coerced into sex or made to do anything they don't want. But there are unspoken rules here, child. authoritative single. Tacit ones. Do you know what they are ?"

She shook her foreland and told him that she did not. She called him"sir,"and he stirred and sucked breath again and flashed her a look she could not understand with his unreadable eyes.

"One—no names. Two—the mask remains on at all times. Three—what happens here stoppage here and four—the golden one—you do not address about this lieu outside of these paries. The multitude at this party are absolute. This society is ubiquitous. There are pinna everywhere. If you break one of these conventions they will make love and when they know—"He left the implication hanging.

"I won't William Tell,"Abby told him softly.

"have you heard of ‘ The Man'” ?

His centre bore into hers but all she could think about was the song. ( Left a good job in the urban center /

Workin'for the man ev'ry night and day / And I never lost one minute of sleepin'/ Worryin''bout the way things might accept been / Big rack livelihood on turnin'/ Proud Virgin Mary keep on burnin'. ) She wondered why King John Fogerty sang burnin'the way he did - booynin.

The Libertine laughed again as if reading her mind."fountainhead ‘ The Man'works for me,"he said and it precluded any promote comment."Come—"

The libertine led Abby deeper into this place—to each darker and darker room—where every extension of desire was played out. In one room a man with a sheep's head lay on the story as a adult female in a lace masque defecated onto his naked body. In the recession a brawny bleak man built like a deity licked the twat of one girl while fucking a second in the mouth and while his bastard was being licked by a third. Another man cried out in lust as a beautiful and slender woman straddled him before urinating down onto him and then when she was done he took her from behind over a wooden mesa. A man with a shark's question had his beshitted ass licked by a girl tied up with restraints. A young woman with a gold leafage over her grimace fucked a man in the ass with a large gold strap on. In one of the adjacent room linked by a doorless archway a man hung from a roof, his torso wriggling against graveness and his brass purple under his dour masquerade from the noose around his neck, while with his free hand he brought himself to orgasm all over two females who where cheering him on viciously and pleasuring themselves from his suffocation. It was in this room that Abby said she felt feint, and indeed the olfactory property was loathsome to say the least, and The Libertine led her out into a way where a man with a White River masque crying blood tears railed a slender young miss, ( whose knocker were flat against a Methedrine mesa and who had a neck ruff around her neck attached to a rod that this man held ), repeatedly in her tight sphincter so that her cries mixed with a gargle in her throat and became one monotonic drone. Seven men sat at a postpone watching with drinks and canapés and they said matter like ‘ harder'and ‘ more'and they applauded as if it was a display on Great White Way. These men wore gold-laced robes and their masquerade were all the Lapplander with patent atomic number 79 colouring. They watched appraisingly and without inflection as two girlfriend were frigged in front of their very eyes by a big man in a motley fool's mask. They would spat when it was finished. When they were done two server in drab legal transfer came and removed the little girl and several more appeared in their place and danced suggestively for the men until they had zilch on but their masque. Then one of the men clicked his fingers and the girls started to have it away each other carnivorously. When the girls being fucked climaxed they would swap positions and when the fuckee's too had climaxed a man for each of the female child would come and vilify them until waiver. The rounder explained that these men in their robes were the elder although he did not go into point. They were a take group who oversaw the guild and its events although they rarely participated. They saw Abby and he over the crowd and Abby thought one of them said something to the other as they all looked towards her ( or maybe it was him. ) She heard him strike breathing spell and he glared back. Two server appeared as if summoned by these men but The debauchee clicked his finger's breadth and they dispersed just as quickly and one of the elderberry bush rose. There was a second. Abby looked at The Libertine and wondered who he was. He had power and influence here. Abby and The Libertine did not linger in that elbow room and they promptly left. In early elbow room lacy intimate apparel was slipped from tanned shoulders. mate for the Nox were selected at random without consideration, with no fetish too debauched. Drinks continued to run in the other rooms. Pianists with covers over their eyes played fruity line. versatile scenarios took place—men having sex with adult female while pleasuring another woman, woman making dearest to each other while a man watched. One woman with a mask that exposed her backtalk gave fellatio to four men while a one-fifth lay beneath her giving her joy. It was subtle and well oiled ; a simple bridge player on the back to let you have intercourse that you were wanted. In one of the smaller way where a fireplace in the nook provided the entirely light a woman lay on the floor spread eagle while two men in masks made love to her at the same time. Behind them a man was led away by three adult female wearing only strategically placed feathers. A young woman with the most utter olive skin danced with a man Abby guessed must have been a football player or a sports star because of his broad articulatio humeri and right consistence. She moved with grace as she slid down his muscular body in keeping with the melodic beat of the muzak before turning and with it removing a piece of textile from across his waist. She then traced his physical structure down with her lips before taking him in her lip and he watched her bob up and down on him wonderstruck. Despite his hands that were so inviolable and powerful he held her psyche gently until a consequence when his massive body tensed up and he gripped the back of her head to force him into her and he discharged deep into her throat. She swallowed all of him and then when she was done she rose, with him still leaking from her mouth and down her chin and she kissed him and then he took her off into a side room where they would have intercourse like fauna."You liked that ?"The libertine asked her and she blushed under her masquerade party and did not answer. He smiled—already knowing the result. Abby scanned this elbow room both with intrigue and fear. On a position tabular array sat a large gold stadium full of safety. The libertine followed her regard and told her this was a completely secure environment."Everyone here is clean."He handed her a drink produced seemingly from nowhere and she let the liquid flow into her. He told her she needed it, as she looked unsteady. She finished the drink but when she glanced back at the drinking glass it was full again. His eyes burned into hers. Then, he said ;"Everything is accepted here. This is humanness in its most raw, most pure form—no prejudice or discrimination or hatred. people come here and mollycoddle in what it is to be human. Good food, in effect swallow and intense warmth over art and music and each early. Here you can be whoever you want to be and the mask is your indistinguishability without any sagaciousness. Everyone who is anyone is here and yet they are not because they are behind a masquerade. They are safe. Here I am you and you are I. We are one person and multiple people. We are everlasting. The human activity of the material body are obvious : sexual wickedness, impurity and debaucher."He paused and looked around this place as if it were his kingdom."Time does not exist in this shoes. It ends when it ends and not a consequence before."

The Libertine led Abby out into the corridor. Part of her wanted to leave this place and go menage where she was where she knew, and another part of her, the dominant constituent of her, remained full of machination and lustful wonder. She staggered and he caught her with a substantial arm. Her fountainhead was slowing. Noises were slowing. He led her down a corridor flanked on both sides by bass velvet drape when from a room opposite two people left and The Libertine stopped and took a tart intake of breathe. Mme Rothschild walked towards them ; the fanny of her apparel flowing behind her and walking succeeding to her holding a champagne glass by the flute was Arabella. They spotted him late and Mme Rothschild—with her hart's head word that from looking at it up close seemed to be veridical and which probably was—scanned them both and Abby thought she hissed. Her jewellery was audacious. A diamond-encrusted rood-tree hung from her neck. Big ring adorned her hands. She was wearing more than to the highest degree mass had in their bank accounts.

"You came,"she said to The debauchee without inflection."The hearsay are true."

"Madame,"he bowed.

He advanced towards her but something stopped him and they glared at each other. Abby felt uncomfortable. She rubbed her heart under the mask. Her head hurt.

Arabella held herself well beside the Mme and Abby looked at her. She found she was scowling under her mask but only because he had been right. She was stunningly pretty and despite the face hidden by paint and a metal birdcage she looked flawless. Arabella curtseyed and The Libertine bowed his drumhead."Arabella,"he said with fondness. The name seemed to just swan off his tongue.

"Hello, L—"she said and then she cut herself off as if she was about to verbalize his name. The Mme flashed her a look. The libertine held his breath and then he nodded and he took her mitt and he kissed it.

"You grow more beautiful, Arabella,"he said simply,"every prison term I see you."Then,"my date."He held an arm out as an introduction to Abby and the two young woman looked at each other through their respective masquerade party. The Mme looked her up and down.

"Ah,"and then nothing more was said and they were gone, off into another elbow room.

"I thought everyone was anonymous here,"Abby asked in reference to the mutual recognition between The debauchee and the Mme.

He smiled."They are. The Mme and I are—old friends."The Libertine tapped his hands against his thigh again and then they set off and in a blink of an eye Abby was in another room with no cogent retentiveness of walking there.



"Why is that girl out of limit ?"Abby asked suddenly directly they walked through the door and The libertine exhaled fondly and said"ah,"and then he thought for a piece."Arabella is a special girl."The debauchee spoke fondly about the only daughter of Mme Rothschild—as if she was somehow pricey to him. She was the heir to the family fortune and Arabella was the prize everybody longed for but he told Abby that she was too arrant and nobody could have her."Not yet,"he said as if wrapped with lugubriousness."She is not to be touched until she peak. She can not be defiled. She is sacrosanct"He told Abby that he had only ever seen her once without her mask—a long clip ago—when they had an illicit rendezvous that was abruptly stopped and as he spoke she saw his language unfold like a sight in her top dog. He told her that Arabella had a sweetheart which was superior to anyone else but of a dissimilar kind. She was 13 or fourteen, small and slender, of a slight and nubile and extremely delectable build, and the fine platinum hair to be seen. An air of sensitivity her feature film were defined and staring and her eyes were the deep and bright commons and expressed at once tenderness and decency and naturalness. She was of superior social class and baronial charm. Her sassing were bright and ripe and red and they gave her the visual aspect of heavenly phiz and they had been delicate and tender when he had kissed them. Her fount was perfect and she was flawless like she was a porcelain wench. Her skin was soft and sun blessed and free from defect and in their tryst some time ago he had slipped her lithe being from the confines of her silk dress and had seen all of her nonsensitive. Her breasts were modest, very round, business firm, well-elevated, but there was barely enough there to fill the mitt. Her chest of drawers was specialize and defined, but it was also a very soft chest, her belly was satin smooth and traced down to a fiddling blond mound not much garnished with hair and which served as peristyle to a tabernacle worthy of a Goddess. This tabernacle was narrow down to such a point that when he had inserted a finger therein he had elicited a sweet-flavored cry from Arabella. From her back of which lines swept deliciously down to the most artistically and the most precisely cleft merchant ship was something that could not receive been more perfectly round, not very large, but firm, white ; and when it was opened, what would peep out but the unclouded, most fragile golf hole ; a subtlety of tender pink. She had blushed a virgin's flush but she had asked him to continue and he had kissed her once more and then it had been stopped and she had been taken away and he had been forbidden to ever tinct her like that again. He stopped his story unawares."We will spill the beans about that girl no more,"he said suddenly and seriously."Tonight I am yours."

She looked up at him and bit her fanny lip."What does that mean ?"

"What do you want it to mean ?"

"I don't know."

He smiled and then he laughed."Come, there is one Sir Thomas More affair I would like you to see."

He led her out of the room where along the allow for hand side of a darkened corridor were doors lit only by the white fire glow of the number that hung above it and which descended down through the teens and into single figure.

"What're in those enumerate room ?"she asked and The Libertine smiled.

"They're not numbers."



"What do you imply ?"

"face closely."

She did and then after a back the realisation of what it was hit her and persistent horror flooded her look, followed by a sickness that flowed from her stomach. The signage above the doorway did not refer what number it was, but the age of the occupant inside. He led her down to one of the individual figure doors and produced a key and asked if she wanted to see inside and she shook her fountainhead and felt the kickoff of vomit in her pharynx.

The Libertine laughed again."The creation of the rich and potent is not a world you could ever hope to understand, child. Everything is a commodity. Everything has a Mary Leontyne Price when you are racy enough to pay for it."

"It's abhorrent. It's sick."

The Libertine laughed a tierce time."In your populace that may be true. But we are not in your world now, child. Welcome to the seedy underbelly of the rich and potent. There's 35 % of the entire world's riches at this party spread out among lupus erythematosus than .1 % of its add up population—hundreds upon century of trillion pounds in this edifice alone. Maybe that gives you an idea of what you have walked into ? There is more collective wealth and power in this building than in all the area of the world combined. There are people in here with personal assets worth more than some minor res publica, people worth hundred of billions of Lebanese pound. And there is zip that can not be purchased with the outgo exponent on show here."

Abby felt uneasy. She struggled on her base and she felt him catch her arm as she fell."Overwhelming. It gets to everyone the first time."And then a handwriting came up and she felt him touching her skin with script she thought she had felt before. She took in breathing spell through her teeth. He started on her neck opening, feeling her guzzling as his hand closed around the reduce blank cutis. And then he traced it up under her masque to her chin, and then to her cheek as if he was picturing what she looked like. He looked at her deep red rim and ran a digit over them. She was scared although she did not protest, and then his hand was gone and her skin stung all over as if his fingertips were nettles.

He asked her for her age and she told him and a storm expression left his mouth. He took a dance step back and looked her up and down, at her delectable petite frame and her nicely size breasts and her slender ramification and he said he thought she was much older than that.

"I've done poppycock before you know !"she said quickly but quietly and The rounder grinned devilishly.

"Oh, not like this,"he said and his eyes burned again.

She felt like she was losing time. Her brain was thicker now—she felt disorientated like the drink had hit her all at once. She could hear him talking about this smart set and this berth but she was taking little in. Abby caught her observation in in a big antique mirror with a gold frame and a strange pattern around the outside. It was old, but strip and she looked at herself like she did back in her room. She did not recognise the girl she looked at. The tight, little consistency in the black playsuit, the freaky golden masquerade party with the floral pattern and the shadow set middle that she did not think were her own. She looked closer at herself and then she looked to the position and she did not see The debauchee. She was stood alone. She felt his presence next to her and she turned and looked at him. He was there. He smiled at her and told her she looked beautiful. She went to face back at the reflection but they were suddenly in another way and the mirror was gone and she realised she had no cognition of how she had got there. A woman with the most beautiful black skin greeted them at the doorway. Abby rubbed her head and then she opened her eye back to the room and saw The Libertine and this girl embracing by the doorway. She heard their kissing, saw the girl's tongue fighting with his, saw his paw as it traced down her back to the gold frills of her panties before slipping interior and she moaned out and then she was taken away by a sculpted Caucasian man who laid her pile on a love bottom and promptly slipped himself deep inside her moist, pink cunt whilst kneading at her breasts with his fists. Other people were in this elbow room. A Pres Young daughter behind a mask that half resembled an Edvard Munch design—who known only to you the hero-worship subscriber is one of the principle dancers for the Bolshoi Ballet—passed them and traced her finger's breadth across The debauchee's chin and said something in a tongue Abby did not recognise. She looked at Abby with indecipherable heart but they were oculus that drew her in. They were bright and sparkling. She had on see through black mesh clothes that came to just above her knee joint and she was nude painting underneath. Her breasts, Abby noticed, were small like her own but they were unit of ammunition and her nipples were hard pointed and she had a neatly trimmed descent of pubic fuzz above her vagina. She was beautiful and Abby found herself staring. The girl approached Abby and she said something to her too flirtatiously and she traced her hired hand along Abby's stomach and then she was gone. Abby tensed up.

The Libertine leaned in."This is an assailable guild. Let your imagination and your bias's and your fright float away. Go with the flow."

A pianist played in the niche.

She found herself drunkenly swaying again. There was a thumping in her point. She thought she could sense Bengay again."It is fourth dimension,"Abby heard The debauchee say.

"Time ?"

"For your initiation,"he said with a smile."This political party does not come with justify admission."

He approached her Abby—woozy and drunken—and he pulled her close to him. She felt his passion and he could smell her fright and her jitteriness shuffle with her perfume. She looked up at him and was biting her lip. She heard her quiet, blue-blooded interpreter saying,"I've done things before,"but it was all she could summon.

"I know,"she heard him say. And then he leant in, whispering,"terpsichore for me, Abby."



Abby. He said her figure. Her centre stopped. The elbow room slowed. How did he know her name ? Had she told him. She tried to plump for away stunned, and a unusual dissonance left her divide lip but he held on tight. No, she told herself. She hadn't mentioned her name. nobody had. She felt a wave of fear ejaculate over her. She was cold."What did you say ?"

He smiled a prankish smiling. His eyes burnt into her."I said ‘ dance for me, baby.'”

He let go. The music thumped around them although it was not hard euphony. It was a deep, intense composition that seemed to fall from somewhere and nowhere. She could sense the music flowing through her. He handed her a glass from somewhere and told her to wassail and she did and she closed her centre and she started to sway and she felt thing deep inside her. She drank and the warmth spread out into her, and then she drank some more. One of the waiters in dark livery and the grey mask passed through the room and The Libertine exchanged give-and-take with him and then he nodded and disappeared out of the room. She was not alone in this room and girls danced wildly and artfully. Abby danced like the others danced. The girl in the see-through dim dress saw her from across the elbow room and they shared a glimpse and then they were dancing together. The waiter returned with a tray and handed The Libertine a large brandy glass. The rounder took a fundament at a table in the corner, on a thickheaded leather armchair, and he drank deep from the glass and he traced Abby with his piercing optic and she watched him and then she turned to the girl in the see-through garb. She closed her center again and she thought about what she had seen—the quite a little that now occupied her mind and the news of which he had just spoken. She thought about how the girls gave themselves to these strangers so freely and she lusted over their release and to the pleasure that they were given. How reckless it was to give yourself to a unknown or to stranger in an environment such as this. She thought of the people she had been with and how they had used her and abused her and thrown her away. She wanted to finger like the girls here felt. Her ventilation picked up. She started to sway faster. The beat of the music was inside of her. The girl in the cobwebby frock grabbed Abby from behind when the music intensified and she ran her hands over her body as they danced together. They did not verbalize. Abby turned and opened her eyes and looked deep into a yoke of lustful green eyes. She told Abby it was OK to touch. Abby was neural. The beat was inside her. The girlfriend touched Abby's human face. She heard The Libertine in her head."Don't you want her ? She wants you."The young woman leaned in and kissed Abby gently on the back talk. Her lip were indulgent and warm—softer than any early lips she had kissed but they were galvanizing and they shocked her. She pulled back initially, confused, and the daughter danced around her and then she was gone and Abby's backtalk were aching. Abby was alone and then she was longing for the miss's lips again. She scanned the room dizzily. She continued to dance. Through the darkness she saw the miss with another. The Libertine's spokesperson came again."take her. She is yours."Her head word ached. Then she was over by the girl. Her heart was beating. She was dancing with a tall, slender char who looked older. Abby grabbed the young woman in the see-through attire and they looked at each other through the darkness. The missy smiled. She was behind Abby again and her hand came around her barren again. Her lips were on Abby's neck opening. Her manpower were on her body. They played with the belt on Abby's playsuit. The medicine was growing. Abby thought about her rim. The rounder watched them intently. Abby was facing the girl again. She did not really sleep together how it happened but then they were kissing. Her clapper was in Abby's mouthpiece. She tasted this daughter with her easygoing lips and her warm mouth and her playful tongue. Abby's workforce were on the girl's face. The girlfriend took one of Abby's hands and put in on her knocker and squeezed Abby's mitt. The Libertine's voice told her it was OK."Explore her. Explore yourself."She smiled and moaned into Abby's lip. She then took Abby's hand and slipped it under her wearing apparel and she made Abby meet her between her ramification where she was wet and moist and she moaned again. She felt her fingertip slip inside and Abby pulled out. They kissed harder. The girl touched Abby. She touched her body over the playsuit. Abby felt a hurry of feelings that she had never felt before. She had never even kissed a girl before. She felt a rush of intimate charge through her. The young lady opened Abby's bash. Although she did not know it at the time the girlfriend in the munch mask slipped the playsuit from over Abby's articulatio humeri and it fell to the floor. She pulled her tight and they kissed again. She touched Abby's body ; felt her between her pegleg over the material of her panties, which was dampness with wetness. She traced Abby's puss, felt at her raw blot which filled her with pleasure. Abby shuddered and moaned into her mouth. And then she was alone again. Another young lady came and took the young woman in the Edvard Munch mask away from Abby and they disappeared into the room. Abby danced alone and ran her mitt over her body and through her hair. She imagined they were the girl's custody and then she imagined they were his. She felt herself over her underwear. She touched herself. She touched her body and her peel and she danced faster and harder and wilder. She was sweating hard and she realised she was hot. She saw things in her head, but they were not her thoughts. She saw The libertine with the young girl in the filmy dress. She was touching his body. Abby toyed with her cerebration. She saw this girl on her knees in movement of him, taking his phallus from inside his pants and then she watched as she took him in her sass. She watched at the joy she administered to him. The Libertine was groaning out into the room as this untried girl bobbed up and down in front of him, taking all of him in her mouth until he was fucking her throat and his clump were slapping on her Kuki-Chin. He pulled out and she gagged and bust fell from her face and saliva and ejaculate fell from her mouth and then he fucked her throat again, his script in her pilus pulling her onto him and she accepted him in her pharynx. Abby danced harder to get the cerebration away. She shook them off but they were only replaced by the view of him fucking this daughter. The Libertine had bent her over, taking off the see-through dress she had on, and he slipped his length cryptical inside the tight, moist twat that Abby had touched and he pounded her on one of the futons. Her battle cry filled the way as he assailed this young fille and Abby watched as this masked young woman gave him such an sodding horse sense of pleasure. She hated seeing another girl with him—this stranger who she did not even know—and then there were others daughter pleasuring him. She saw him and Arabella in the way he had described to her to begin with in detail that told her it was not her thinking she was seeing. She saw sunlight streaming between enceinte a gravid portico. She was looking at Arabella through his eyes. Kissing her with his mouth. helping hand came up in nominal head of her and stripped the clothes from Arabella's body. As Abby's dancing reached a crescendo she opened her eyes into the way and found she was breathless like the air had been sucked from this place. Other people surrounded her. Men and women. They were all terpsichore. A man in a cow's head and a missy with a pig's head touched her. The man grabbed Abby and she felt his manus inside her step-in. She was sweating more. She started to feel uncomfortable. She felt scared. She felt like she was falling. She was dizzy. She pushed away and she started staggering around the room and then she fell. The libertine caught her. He steadied her and she looked up at him. He was almost taken by surprisal by what she did following, and she would admit that it shocked her too—she got on her tiptoes and she kissed him—hard. She then stepped back. Her headspring hurt. His lip were dissimilar although she could not excuse it. He was smiling at her. She was confused. She pushed him away. She felt distressed.

"I should go."

"No."

"I need to go."

"Stay."

"No,"Abby said quickly."I need to go. Let go of me."

clock time skipped forward. They were alone and suddenly he was endure naked, with only the masquerade party of the Plague medico hiding his identity. Abby tried to calm herself and she looked at him. He was big and broad and had muscle on his breast. His consistency extended to eight or nine inches from between his legs and as he looked at her it seemed to turn. His dead body was tattooed with designs and depiction and numbers pool she had never seen or see and she felt faint. The conception scared her. He looked at the Book of Numbers and told her it was his secret code. His mien shook her unexplainably ; and then she saw the fervency in his optic again like she was looking directly into the tenderness of a vent. He approached her, and she bit her bed lip again as she tried to back away. She would later come to realise she did not know the take second she lost her playsuit but suddenly it was off her body and she was stood in front man of him in her bra and blue lace panties."Oh yes,"she heard him say as he studied her. He inhaled her scent, her fear, and every part of her. He longed to see what was under the masquerade party but bound by the rules he could not. The debauchee looked at Abby in a way nobody had ever looked at her before. He looked at her with genuine lust and desire and for the first off time she knew she was wanted. But she knew what he wanted and she did not want to sacrifice it to him. Her lips were crooked and queasy, her neck was slight and thin, and he followed the natural curvature of her torso down to her long and slender peg. Nestled in the gap between in her thighs would be her small, pink entrance above which would be lightly garnished with stubble from where she had tried to knock off her pubic hair. Her pallid complexion and pale blank hide, her breathing harsh and her breasts rising and falling sharply and then he was in front line of her, his hand searing her tegument again.

"No,"she said."I don't want to."

"Shhh,"he said quickly, his manus on her lip."Don't battle it."

"I think I should go,"Abby said.

"You can't leave. I am your protector."

"No,"she screamed again and he slapped her severe, once, across the face.

"Yes,"she heard him say with force."They did not regale you right. Those boys just used you for their own pleasure and satisfaction, and those men just for position and ego and great power. I will show you things ; make you find thing you never knew possible. I will reach you feel how a adult female should feel."She felt herself stir. A foreign flavour filled her stomach and her loins but concern overcame her. Tears filled her eyes."Stay with me. Come with me. Give yourself to me and I will show you everything."

"No,"she said, pushing him away again. She looked for her playsuit but she could not regain it. She was drunk. She was more distressed now."I should go away. I want to go home."He advanced. She backed away and then pushed past him and ran into the room. She looked for the door."I want to go home."She was crying."I shouldn't be here."

"You are here. You brought yourself here. You lied yourself into here."He was inside her heading. She could not see him but she could hear his voice inside her."Let yourself go,"he was saying."You are better than those other people. The ones who use you and do not have a go at it you. You are much best than they are. Embrace it."

"I want to pass on. Let me leave."

She found the threshold and threw it capable and then she was running down a corridor. All the corridors look the Lapplander. She was lost. She was crying. She was scared. He continued in her caput :"You are beautiful. You belong here. You want to grant yourself to me."

"No."

"Yes, baby. Do you require to go back to that stead where they treat you like shit ? Do you want to go back to those people who lie to you and laugh at you ? Free yourself—explore the demarcation line of what it means to be dislodge. You and me, we can dominate this place."

"No. You're crazy."

"Be better. Those the great unwashed don't precaution about you. They use you. Just like all the men that have used you. You are piteous there. You are apparent and boring with your wan skin and your weedy body. You are not wanted. You are used because you are easy and accessible."

"period it. No. Stop it. lead me alone."

"Don't let anyone deceive you in any way. You are strong and beautiful here. You are interesting. You have purpose. You know you are. Explore your lulu. You know what you want if only you look. Give yourself to me. You want it. You know you do."

"Leave me alone. You're nutcase. Leave me alone."

"There is zero there for you, child. You can not go back to that property and to your chamber and their principle and picking up boy on the street. You know you can't."

"Can."

"No. Not after what you did. You remember that don't you ? They will hail for you."Flashback. John the Evangelist Boerman crumpled at the prat of the step. Blood. wrath. Running."The mass here will come for you too. You should not be here and you know that and they know that. I have protected you from them. They will come for you and they will find you and you know what they will do if they find you."

"No. You're lying."

"You know I'm not, sister. Be a trade good girl. Come back."

Every room looked the Sami. She pushed elapse hoi polloi fucking and dancing and imbibing. She was in another corridor. She felt like she was in a snarl. She let the wall carry her to the storey."I can protect you."

She screamed out."Get out of my head."

She saw John Boerman at the care household. He shouted at her about his fall and about her leaving."Look what happened, Abby. You did this. Why didn't you do as I say ?"She saw the Police and the other multitude she lived with. She saw them laughing at her. She saw them telling her what to do. She saw the man from the social office. They were all oral presentation at her. They were all telling her what she could and couldn't do, who she can and who she can't be."No Abby, you can't do that. You need to do this. You need to go here. You can't see that somebody. halt it, Abby. You're acting out again. What are you wearing ? Are you wearing hair nebulizer ? Why are you dressed like that ?"She saw masked men at the end of the street. Watching her. Following her.

She screamed out again."Make it stop !"

digit clicked.

She was back in the company. She was dancing. to a greater extent men danced with her. Girls danced with her. She was given a drink and then she was drinking more. She was not crying now. She did not know how farsighted it had been since she was on the flooring by the bulwark. She was kissing another young lady intensely. Her paw were in this girl's hair's-breadth pulling her closer. Her hands moved down to this fille's breasts, and then Abby had her deal in this unknown girl's panty and she was fucking this girl with her fingers. Abby brought them out and tasted them and she liked how this young woman tasted. A man was touching Abby. She felt his hand on her bum. She was kissing him with her tongue. His arm came around her and pulled her into him. She felt his phallus against her rachis. His manpower were inside her panties, inside her. She said,"no."It was ignored. She was bent grass over. She felt a rooster in her throat and she gagged and tried to protest but her interference was a mumble against the usurpation in her mouthpiece. Behind her she felt her lip splitting and something slipping inside her. She cried out"no"onto the cock."Want a safe meter, babe ?"Bengay. The man in the car. She heard the engine. Felt it hold back. He offered her more black magic. She felt herself taking it. Blurred world. Music played. It was brassy. She was on a chair now, her legs were open, and her panty to one face and a man with a shiner's promontory was between her, inside of her. She shuddered and was crying. She was pleading. Someone had their hand on her ponytail and they were pulling on it tight. A girl was between her legs, eating her. She felt like she was floating on a swarm. She was dancing again. A server appeared with another drinkable. She took it in one. She pushed away a man who was advancing on her. secretiveness. And then she was back on the base against the wall and he was in front of her. His bearing was so much. He walked towards her. Him. The Libertine. He felt safe to her even though she wanted to be away as far away from him as she could. He approached her. He held out his mitt.

"semen with me, child. Let's go some post where it is quiet and you can give yourself to me and I will occur inside your special place."

"I don't know."

"Why not ?"

"I need to think."

"Don't think. I can show you matter. I can establish you your wildest aspiration. I can show you everything. issue forth with me and I'll show you what bed is like, what it does and you'll never have to cerebrate about it again. What else is there for a missy like you but to be sweet and jolly and pass on in ?"

Her heart pounded and her header pounded. Abby felt the flaccid carpet under her groundwork. She walked over to where The Libertine waited. He held out his helping hand again."That's it, sister. That's it, child."His hired man outstretched. She took it.

"That's a near girl."

She was back in the private room. Behind her was a four-poster bed and he told her to lie back on it and although she shook her fountainhead she found that her body had betrayed her. She was no longer in control and it scared her. Her question was a lot of confusion. She felt him against her, and then she felt his lip on her neck and she shuddered. He emanated a heat from his lips that burnt her. His handwriting were in her hair. Then slipping to his knees before her, he sniffed the exterior of her vagina, inhaling deeply, and then he breathed in the scent emergent from her asshole. He touched every single office of her and then suddenly she was naked. She felt him hook the lanced panties from under her and slowly trace them off her body and over her ramification. She felt coolness between her thigh and then she felt his lips on her tegument. She tried to protest but her Scripture did not come out. She was feeling things she had never felt before. She heard herself elicit a gentle moan as he kissed closer to her slit and he inhaled her scent again. She tried to force him away but he was too unassailable, too potent. He was inside her mind corrupting her motor mathematical function. She saw things that were not hers. Suddenly there was urgency inside her. It was like a red light was on inside her oral sex. ‘ risk. Danger. Danger'“ No, waiting,"she said."Stop."He tasted her puss. She took in a crisp, shaking breathing time as his tongue ran across her snatch and he felt her wet. He was like a gentle fire across her pubic region as he suckled her throbbing, swollen hoodlum and flicked her pulsating attic. His finger probed at her. She tried to protest as he digitally stimulated her but her actor's line were lost in the harshness of her breather as she moaned and reacted to his touch, his finger searing inside of her, and she continued to try and protest flop up until the moment she rose up over the edge of a burn peak that gently rippled through her lithe young body, a physical structure which had been writhing and twisting against the mattress and his strong complimentary hired man that was clamped across her bellybutton to turn back her from moving. Even as she reached the crown and saw over the bound of the mountaintop he continued and her peak rose further and more sound out and more powerful. The mollify ripple turned into a harsh fit. Her consistence was writhing as a tsunami tore through her followed by another. The Libertine withdrew his fingers from inside her, now coated with the light glistening of her orgasm, and he wrote something she could not defecate out on her body with her cum. She took a sharp intake of breath when he ran his clapper over the writing, tasting her, and then he whispered in her ear ;"I'm going to number inside you where it's all secret and you'll give in to me."

"No,"she heard herself saying shakily. She did not want this. She felt his lips on hers and her body now felt extraterrestrial being to her. She wanted to resist but was kissing him back even though her head was shaking. Her hands were loose but she did not crusade him off. She felt him, felt his hide and his eubstance and she went up into his masquerade and she traced the rowdiness of his face. She took in his scent. Musk. elbow grease. cologne water. She thought she could smell Bengay on him. She tasted him, felt her backtalk invaded by his tongue and suddenly he was a drug to her. She kissed him harder and moaned into his mouth. He let her touch him for a while and then his hands came down and pulled her arms back up over her fountainhead. She blinked. The room was gone and she was in a car. The libertine was now a man with powder around his nose and a face she could not see. She tried to get up but a hired man came across her boldness and she fell back. Her cheek stung. She was crying. Her eyes stung. She closed them and when they opened the car faded away and she was in the gloomy room with the red silk pall and the big bed and filled with libidinous squalor. She could find the bulb of his penis against her thorax, throbbing with hungriness as he guided it towards the wet lips between her legs. His rigid heat brushed against her opening and an unvoluntary shudder rippled through her. She resisted again, she told him no. Her brain was conflicted, fracturing. The Libertine continued forward, splitting the wet lips of her sex with his member, drenching his length with her juices. Back and forth he goes, teasing her entryway, forcing her physical structure to accept him and release more of her nectar for his pleasance. She whimpered in fearfulness and a feeling of arousal and she cried out into the way suddenly as he thrust up into her into untouched area and she felt huge and bloated like she was being forced apart and she conceded and she gave herself to this alien. A fervidness burned inside of her. Her consistence rose up to meet him and he kissed her punishing and then pushed her back. She heard herself protesting still but the voice sounded alien. She felt tears on her cheek and she was crying again—harder. He settled against her uterus and then he started to tease apart at her pap. Her petty Andrew D. White breasts and pink areolas seemed lost in his big hands. He stroked the soft skin underneath her breasts until they tingled and he toyed with her nipple with his thumbs, pinching them between his digit until her nipple stiffened and began to languish. Her tight erogeneity opened up for him. She tried to worm but his hand held hers above her head. She felt him kissing at her dead body and her knocker. He thrust up into her again and again and again and he groaned out into the emptiness of this dark berth at the tightness of this Lester Willis Young lady friend's promise. Each time his pelvis slapped against her she moaned out and a soft, docile, placidity feminine whine left her mouth. Her back arched as he slammed into her hard and he groaned out as their pubic bones crunched, and then he started to rock his pelvic girdle, faster and harder until he was pounding at her, assailing her. She had been with people before but she had not known this. She had not known a man to use and tarnish her like this and he leaned in and told her he was going to do everything he had ever done to a charwoman to her. His eyes were filled with concupiscent curiosity and concurrent concern and brat. His eye were filled with so practically ire and attack and craze. She heard herself asking him to stop over but her wrangle were lost in the croaky strait of her moaning and then she found herself kissing him, kissing at his lips as if they were air and she needed him to breathe. She felt his hand hail up and brooch around her throat and then she felt him culmination in and she struggled for breath. Muzak played from somewhere and above it she heard her own moans and the slapping of his glob against her ass. He fucked her. She started to feel something beginning in her toes, a tingling that quickly rose up through her body and then something peaked and tore through her like a firework rising up before exploding and when it popped her body vibrated and she shook violently as a searing tsunami of sexual climax took ascendance of her and her body convulsed in complete hedonism. She was gone now—her mind was a mess of feeling and emotion. She had fractured. He was taking her in every way that he could. He continued to choke her until she felt light headed. Her work force clawed at The Libertine, pulling him harder into her, and he did not stop. He continued his violation on her untested body, feeling her tightness accepting the girth of his extension and he groaned out as her oleaginous secretion covered the bulb of his penis. She was breathless but he continued to fuck her with abandon as a second base wave tore through her and then a thirdly and then she panted, her breath shaking. His handwriting around her throat tightened still. She was illumine headed now. Limp. She did not have it off how many multiplication she had cum. She was drained, and then she heard him moan out as he exploded inside of her, and she felt a burning inferno from within his rogue fellow member as his seed plastered her womb and then the inferno began tearing through her body, spreading to every single face ending and she was burning up, sweating from her pore. She was like that for a while—she did not know how long—suspended in a knackered vacuum like she was the lone someone in the cosmos. She drifted in and out. She felt his seed leaking out of her and running down her thigh and pooling on the bed. She had a dull pounding and tenderness between her second joint. She heard noises but she could not make them out. He said something to her but she could not understand what it was. She felt a astute combustion pain in her bum and then things went dark…

She felt herself falling through darkness and then she was somewhere and nowhere, like she was suspended in nothingness. She saw things. Heard voices that were familiar to her. She saw a burning at the stake inferno engulfing the duskiness. She saw a flush of sight of her life. She was honest-to-goodness. She saw multitude she did not recognise. She saw happiness and success. She saw clear downcast skies and eternal sea and sandlike beaches. She felt more joy than she had ever felt. She heard music playing and waves crashing against the rocks. She heard laugher. A baby cried. Someone was telling her it was a boy. She felt overpower happiness. And then she felt pain and suffering. The sun went behind the darkest of clouds and the waves became harsh and more powerful and she heard a wind so stiff it was like a hundred hurricanes all in one. She saw eyes in the sky. A man with fervidness in his center. She looked into them and thought she understood the eyes. He was the wind instrument and the rain and the darkness. He was the flak and the morning star. He was the blazing infernal region. He was every bad dream she had ever had. He was all of Abby's worst nightmares. He was luxuria and jealousy and greed and enviousness and gluttony and superbia and wrath and sloth. He was the toxicant tree and the fruit that fell from it. He was pestilence and war and shortage and death. He was every darkness thought in her headspring, every dread moment and every unfit fear. He was the end of everything. She felt a bother inside her like she was being charge apart. Her physical structure stung and nerves screamed and her muscles ached. She was doubled over in pain. She felt like her body was going to fragment outwards into a million little piece of music. She felt deprivation. She heard a baby in distress. She heard screaming and then the shriek rose like a tenor to a pitch so incredible, so unbearable that she thought her headland was going to break loose.

Abby woke suddenly. Her hair was matted to the pillow and her brow and for the first off few moments—when she was awake but not aware—she was the picture of contentment. She was in those precious few moments when you first awaken up, the one where your eyes struggle to accept the light that comes in that burning E. B. White blur and that makes you to fight to keep them open. The second where everything is peaceable and complete and where you could give been anyone and anywhere, and then Abby came back to herself as her consciousness woke up and the day had started and her surroundings came to her quickly. She wondered where she was and then she took a sharp-worded consumption of breathing place and in those maiden few instant her diaphragm went into muscle spasm and she struggled for intimation and she lay, her lip unfastened, gasping for air until it came in a wafture and she took as much in as she could. She shot up and rubbed her sequined centre and they scanned the room quickly. Her breathing settled. Her black playsuit was hung up on her wardrobe. She was home. Her external respiration started to settle just a petty bit. Her throat was dry and her back talk were sore and had that White person crusting like she had been out for a dark on the drink. Her head thumped with a pounding as if someone with a jackhammer was inside working on her cranium. The bed sheet below her was moistness with the wetness caused from her sweating. She was in a thin white nightie that was stuck to her book binding and her navel and she had on a pair of manifest clean cotton wool pantie underneath. She had a throbbing between her legs and soreness in her thighs that she could not impute anything to. She tried to recollect but her remembering were sinister as if they had been erased and the more she thought the more she was greeted with emptiness—as if someone had put a magnetic tape in the machine that was her head but when they had pressed play it was just grey and black atmospherics like it had recorded zilch at all. She contorted her face hard as if trying to recall but she could not, and then she found she was crying in frustration at what eluded her. It was surreal. She knew something should get been there.

For a time—the exact length she was not entirely sure—she sat in the middle of the bed, legs crossed and the sheets pushed down—just thinking and looking into malarkey. She combed her hair back with her paw. Her pallid skin color was stained with the tracks of her tears that ran down her face and dotted around the bedding. Her last cogent memory was of music acting from the speaker system in the corner of the room. It was of being out on the streets walking to somewhere. It was a sleek shameful car curb crawl. It was the smell of Bengay. A vocalism :"Looking for a full sentence, babe ?"The more than she tried to call up the to a greater extent her head distress. After a patch she breathed out and she looked up into the elbow room. greyness morning lighting was streaming through the gaps in the drape. Moisture was on the window but the rain had abated. particle in the room floated as if existing in their own fourth dimension shape. Time. Something thumped in her mind. She felt like she had lost time. A clock ticked in the corner of the room. It was 09:23 AM. She pictured a clock with no manpower ticking. She heard something in her head saying time did not exist. The vexation returned unattackable. She started to look around. Something caught her eye, a glint of something golden, and she turned and a wow got lost in her throat and she just ended up making a frightened noise. She jumped up. Sitting on the rest next to where she had been sleeping was a mask—golden and bright and covered with a golden floral normal. She thought it fellow but she did not screw where she had seen it before. She reached out and touched it. She whipped her finger's breadth back suddenly as if an electric shock tore through her and she saw herself wearing the masquerade party in a strange elbow room. Dark drapes covered the windows. She was stood with someone but she could not see his or her reflection. They were saying something but the representative sounded distant like it was being spoken under water. The thought disappeared. She reached out again and picked it up and she ran her hands over the aim. Her head thumped. She turned to see who she was stood with but the retentiveness was too quick and then it was lost and no matter how much she tried she vision eluded her. Her head hurt again and it forced her eyes closed. She rubbed her frontal bone.

Abby stood in the shower melancholic. The piddle cascaded down over her naked body. She turned up the temperature and let it sear at her skin. She liked to feel the burn as it washed all the grunge and travail from her body. There had been rakehell in her pantie when she had taken them off. She had started menarche a distich of class before but she did not recollect she was due her hertz for another few workweek. Her bum was sore. She felt bloated as if she was swollen. She stood under the pee and let it pelt down over her head. computer memory were alike flashbacks, quick and inconceivable to decrypt. She saw the mask in her head teacher. She heard fruity music. Voices she did not realise but they were not cogent and they did not make sense to her. She ran her hands over her body ; she felt her skin prickling and burning. She closed her eyes and she could hear a vocalism talking to her but it was too far away. She heard someone call option her"baby."She touched her brim and they were seared and dry. She was picturing a missy kissing her but she could not see her face. She screamed out into the piddle and then she started to cry again although she did not bonk why.

She had been laid on her bed looking up at the cracked sticking plaster on her roof for a farseeing metre before the knocking on the doorway disturbed her. She took in breath and then looked up for a little foresighted.

"Abby. Abby are you in there ? Abby."

With a lassitude she attributed to whatever she had gone through the previous night she pulled herself up off the bed and walked across to the door. She felt tired. Her trunk ached. She was in a wanton tee and some black leggings. She caught her reflection in the mirror and thought she looked unwell. She opened the door and gasped and staggered back. John Boerman was not an old man. He had sort eyes and a beat face and he was probably around thirty. He smiled at Abby and asked if she was OK and she remembered—rage and ira and aggression. She saw herself out of body, arguing, fighting and then she was pushing him back down the step and he tumbled and fell until he lay in a soundless plenty at the animal foot of the stairs. She could see the blood pooling from his drumhead. She saw the smear on the bulwark from where his chief had hit it. Her hands were shaking.

"Abby what's unseasonable ?"

She tried to speak but language did not leave her open mouth. He smiled at her again."The Police just have a few follow up questions, Abby. It's procedure. It won't take long. They're just really concerned about you after what happened. You were in quite a state when they found you. Are you feeling any proficient ?"

She was obscure. Her head hurt even more. She looked at him. He did not display any injuries. His straits looked together and healthy and bruise-less and clean. How could that be ? She studied him silently."I'm so lamentable for what happened,"she said after a here and now."I did not mean to hurt you death night. I'm so sorry."

He looked at her quizzically but he did not directly answer him."ejaculate on, Abby. You've been through a lot this last few days."

He led her towards the stairs by his big arm and she went with him, shakily. Few years ? What did he signify ‘ few Clarence Shepard Day Jr. ?'When they had found her ? Found her where ? She apologised to him again and promised him that she would shift and then as they started to go down the steps and he looked at her with that funny, quizzical aspect again and said—"But Abby, I don't know what on Earth you're talking about…"

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